Revelations
by T.R. Hunter
Summary: Musings on Alistair's background motivations.


Revelations

Warnings: Not canon. If you have strong feelings about Alistair's gender preferences, don't read on (or at least don't complain to me). No sex or violence so far, but that could easily change. Just my musings—it may be fanfic, but it's my story, so I'm gonna write what I wanna.

Request: Any errors,misspellings, inconsistencies or inanities… please do feel free to point them out… very much appreciated… death is easy, comedy is hard, proofreading is nigh on to impossible… but my apologies for any errors nonetheless.

Now on to the story…

Alistair had not spoken since his meeting with Eamon. No cheerful banter on the way back to camp. No comments on the weather (which was dismal) or lunch. It was reminiscent of the time after Ostagar; the only other time Ty could remember Alistair being reticent.

Ty's question about the meeting had only elicited a growled "Personal!" and a turning away. However, Alistair's body language was eloquent in intent if not informative in detail. He stomped, he strode, he seemed to want to break the very ground, making them all hurry to keep up. He walked in his own world, an all but visible wall around him that no one dared breech.

At camp things settled into routine: Leliana put a cauldron of water over the fire that had been built up by Sten. Oghren chopped vegetables and skinned the rabbit he'd shot that morning. Morrigan scavenged for herbs to add nutrition and flavor to the ubiquitous stew. Tents were swept and weapons cleaned as dinner cooked.

Alistair settled on a stump a way away from the fire, more inmobile than Shale. He sat upright, still in his full armor, staring straight ahead as if at attention on parade. His expression gave no hint of his feelings; it was almost inhuman in its neutrality. More like a poorly carved statue than a living being: no life in the eyes, no tip to the mouth or quirk in the eyebrows. The gentle flaring of his nostrils with each breath was the only indication of life.

The others in the small troupe virtually tiptoed about their duties. No unnecessary conversation. None of the usual jokes or songs. And especially no one dared approach the grave statue that had once been their friend. Even Dogspawn, usually boisterous at their return, had simply lain down with his paws over his eyes and gone to sleep.

The meal was eaten solemnly, Alistair not joining in, although Leliana had quietly left a bowl by his feet. The tension was underlined by a deep rhythmic, metallic squeal as Oghren honed his blade and the bass note of Morrigan pounding herbs for poultices. Other than these sounds of necessary industry, the camp was silent as night descended. Even the frogs at the nearby pond has ceased their chirping.

As the full moon crested the hill to the east Alistair rose and diffidently, looking down and away, approached Ty.

"I would speak with you, if you have the time," he said in a harsh voice.

Startled, looking up at his large friend, Ty replied, "I have nothing but time, at least until the dawning. Speak on."

With a nod towards the woods, Alistair growled "Away from camp. Bring the dog if you would."

Getting to his feet, Ty asked with half serious sarcasm, "Perhaps, from your demeanor, I should bring my weapon as well, my friend? You look as if you are about to slay something, and I would prefer it not be me or my dog."

The reply was not what he expected. Usually a joking comment, particularly one tinged with self mockery, would loosen any tension in Alistair. This time all he got for the effort was a grave nod and "Bring your weapon if you wish. I care not. Just come."

With a quiet whistle from Ty to call Dogspawn, the three walked into the woods, following a small game trail lit by the bright moon. Alistair lead with Ty walking some few paces behind, trotting every now and again to keep up. Elven legs, while quick and agile, are not ideally suited to matching pace with a determined, oblivious, and exceptionally tall human. Dogspawn kept the rear guard, occasionally making his presence known by a canine huff or the cracking of a stepped on stick.

They walked longer than Ty expected or thought wise. These lands were not safe. They were stalked by darkspawn and bandits and creatures of the night. Camp and a large warm fire were the place to be at night. It didn't help that, being from the Alienage, the only tree Ty had seen before meeting Duncan had been the single great tree in the center square, and that seemed more an architectural element or old friend than a part of the strange and hostile nature that now surrounded him. He took comfort in knowing that Dogspawn followed, his canine senses preternaturally alert to any danger.

Finally, some half mile or more from camp and near a small, noisy brook, Alistair settled himself on a moss covered boulder. With relief, followed quickly by an anxiety about what would come next, Ty sat across from his comrade.

"Send the dog on watch, if you would, so that no one approaches us unawares," were Alistair's first words. There was much strange in this, not the least Alistair referring to Dogspawn as simply "the dog." He and Dogspawn had a long standing and respectful friendship—sometimes they seemed to understand one another better than any of the other companions. For Alistair to call Dogspawn merely "the dog" was equivalent to him referring to Ty as "the elf." It just wasn't done, at least not normally.

Ty gave a brief hand signal and Dogspawn ranged out to keep guard. No more was necessary with the Mabari hound. In truth, Ty thought that the dog simply read his mind and would carry out the task without further instruction, but there was a certain comfort in giving the order physically.

"I take it you do not wish to be overhead." With twist of his mouth and a tip of his head Ty tried to emphasize the irony of his statement. The long way from camp, the noisy stream, the dog on watch… definitely a man who did not wish others to eavesdrop on what he was about to say.

Sadly for Ty, this too was ignored, or taken with a literalness that was the opposite of what he had hoped for, for the reply was, "Yes, it is important to me that what I am about to say to you not be overheard. I would also appreciate if it were not divulged to anyone else without my permission."

This stilted way of speaking was so unlike Alistair that, if Ty had not already been about as concerned and confused as he was capable of being, the speech in itself would have alerted him to grave matters ahead. Idly, Ty wondered if this is what Alistair would sound like should he become king. He hoped not. The normal, causal, joking Alistair was the man that he loved, not this sober stranger.

Looking up at the moon, Alistair took in a huge breath and let it out with a sigh, then seemed to slump, all of the tension and discipline dropping from him with that one breath. He put his hand to his brow and looked up at Ty, his shaded eyes hidden.

"I don't know where to begin. I don't even know that I should be talking with you about this, but I have to talk to someone or break. I feel as if I'm about to shatter like some poor creature caught in Morrigan's spell.

"Everything that I thought, everything that my life has been based on since becoming a Grey Warden, well, it's all been, I don't know, a lie, an illusion, a storybook tale. For that matter my whole life, it seems that I've been fed nothing but lies, or not that exactly, but mostly lies, too many lies, and it's left me not knowing who I am. I'm sorry, I know I'm not being clear… or coherent for that matter, I just don't know where to begin."

Ty was stunned. His heart had began to beat faster and he'd began to sweat despite the chill, but surely, disturbing as they were, there were nothing in these words to cause such a reaction. Was in empathy? A connection beyond the commonplace to this man who was his friend, his lover, his back in battle? No matter, he had to take himself in hand and say something in reply.

Alistair had removed his hand, revealing his amber eyes , and they were looking expectantly, hopefully at Ty, as if Ty alone could save him from this drowning in his thoughts.

Breathing slowly to calm himself, Ty said, "Why not tell me, as closely as you can, what Arl Eamon said to you first? We can then take it from there. Perhaps I will have some insights. You can tell me your thoughts. At least it will be a starting place."

Alistair allowed the slightest hint of a smile to play at his lips and Ty breathed out in visceral relief. Perhaps his friend had returned. Perhaps it would all be OK, at least in time.

Sitting a bit straighter, Alistair began, "Of course, you know nothing of what was said. I'm sorry, it's just that _so much_ was said that it's hard to know how to… well anyway… The good news is, I'm not Goldanna's brother. You know, it really really bothered me to think that I was related to that hag. It sort of put all of my thoughts about family and heritage on end, and I kept wondering if there was a shrewish part of me just waiting to come out."

Patience was clearly going to be needed, but they had all night. With a tip of his head Ty invited Alistair to continue.

"Right. So I'm not related to Goldana, that's good, right? I think so anyway. The thing is, Eamon and… and Duncan… knew all the time who my mother was and never thought to tell me. They could have told me. Eamon even knew that I was looking for Goldanna. It would have been a perfect time to let me know. But he didn't. And… and Duncan… Duncan knew better than Eamon, but he never said anything."

Yes, a long night, but intriguing…

"So, your mother wasn't a serving wench at Redcliff who just happened to catch the king's eye?" Ty asked.

"No. No, my mother was not a serving girl. She was an elf…"

Hurt, shocked, Ty broke in, "And that is so bad? That you are half Elven, is that what this is all about? Is this such a horrible thing that you have to stalk off to the woods and put Dogspawn on guard so that no one should ever know? And, if so, why in the world would you choose to share this horrific news with me, an elf, and elf who thought that you cared for him despite his despicable Elven nature, for the sake of the Maker?" Chest heaving, stomach in knots, and eyes sparking fire, Ty bolted upright and turned away, determined to go back to camp, or maybe off to the Dalish, the Blight be damned.

A firm but gentle hand descended on his shoulder before he had gone three paces. He tried to shake it off, but his strength was as nothing compared to the human's and angry as he was he didn't wish to physically hurt Alistair. Any of the techniques that would free him would result in injury, so he simply froze.

Alistair spoke softly in his ear, "No, wait my friend. I knew I would do this badly. It's why I was afraid to even start. Bear with me a moment. That my mother was an elf is a wonderful thing to me. It's something to celebrate, not something that shames me. In truth, it pleases me more than you can imagine. It is not the disturbing news I have to tell. I suppose that I wanted to start with the good news about Goldanna and about my Elven roots and I just messed it up really badly. Please, come, sit, I will try to do better. I promise."

Overwhelmed, Ty turned and awkwardly hugged Alistair, his arms struggling to encompass the armor clad form and his cheek painfully creased by a crenulation on the cuirass. The pain only made him cling tighter, it seemed like a very real thing in a world that had lost its moorings. He could feel a hot tear trying to find a way between cheek and metal.

Alistair's gauntleted hands gently cupped his head, the velvety goatskin lining soft as the touch. The hands encouraged Ty's head to fall back into them and Alistair's mouth met his, tentatively, passionately. The kiss held all the apology that Ty could hope for. Tender, sympathetic, loving.

After a few moments, Ty pulled back a half step, placing his hands firmly on Alistair's shoulders, saying, "If we continue down this path my friend, I shall never learn more of what Eamon said to you. And it seemed to be important. It is important, is it not?"

A smile playing about his lips and right eyebrow raised, Alistair replied, "Well, it seemed important at the time, but I'm really not sure it's more important than what we were just doing. 'Struth, I seem to all but forgotten what I wanted to talk about."

Ty cuffed him gently and indicated that they should sit. "Then remember, my friend, for my lust in only dimmed by my curiosity. Satisfy the one and you are invited to satisfy the other."

"Then I _must_ remember, for to see your lust dimmed by anything at all is a horrible horrible thing. You know, sometimes your lust is the only thing that keeps be going on those long marches. The thought that it's building, burning, as the hours while away, that we will be in camp soon…"

Lowering his head like a bull and looking up from under his brow, Ty grunted, "Must—restrain—hands. Must—not—strangle."

"OK, OK, I take your point." Alistair raised both hands in front of him in mock defense. "Here's more of the tale. Some of the less, well, less good part. So, where was I? My mother was an elf… and a Grey Warden. That seems like that wouldn't be a bad thing either.

"You said that Duncan told you that your mother was almost a Warden, so maybe it's a talent that's inherited. But anyway, my mother _was_ a Warden.

"You know that it's unusual for Wardens to have children. More than unusual though, it's discouraged. It's discouraged, apparently, because some of the children are tainted. Not all, just some. The taint is not like we get at the Joining… it's… different. As far as I could find out, it's like the taint that killed Rowan, Cailen's mother, Eamon's sister. It sorta creeps up and kills you slowly. It seems to stay dormant in a child as long as you're growing, but then starts to take hold when you mature. Its progress can be halted. At least for a time… by the Joining and no other way, at least that anyone knows about."

As he talked, Alistair's head slowly descended, his shoulders slumped, he seemed to melt into the boulder that was his seat. He spoke more slowly, more quietly, as he went along.

"The Reverend Mother had apparently noticed something about me. I'm not sure what. Maybe some spiritual thing that she was especially sensitive to. Anyway, she let Eamon know and he visited. I remember that that visit was strange. He hadn't been in a very long time, and he kept looking at me like I was peculiar. I thought that it was just that he hadn't seen me in so long. That I had grown into a man. But it was more. He was looking for the taint, and he saw it.

"Please, understand, it's not the lethality of all this that has me upset. I've been through the Joining. I know that I won't live a long life. That wasn't a revelation, and, if anything, I'm one of those very rare people who's life is extended by the Joining.

"But you can see what this means, can't you?"

Ty raised his hands in submission. In truth, he didn't. It all seemed like, well, if not good news, then at least not bad news.

Alistair gave him a lost look. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd understand without me saying. And it's hard to say. Give me a little time."

They sat quietly, Ty trying desperately to read his companion's thoughts, wondering where he had let his love down. Where he was not understanding what he should. What was clearly so important.

Finally Alistair continued. "I was born a bastard prince. I know that no one has power over their birth, but for me that was the first of being made someone who wasn't, well, me. The bastard prince and I were like two different people. That is, I never really thought of myself as a prince. Sometimes as a bastard perhaps, but not as a prince. But other people, people who knew, could not think of me without thinking of the prince.

"Then I was sent to the Chantry. I was a Templar. Not Alistair, but the Templar bastard prince. And none of it had anything to do with me. I didn't choose to go to the Chantry. I didn't want to be a Templar. And there was nothing about me that indicated I would be a particularly good Templar. The Chantry certainly wouldn't have recruited me if Eamon had not insisted.

"Then Duncan came along. I really thought, believed, that he had picked me out of all those Templars because he thought I would make the best Grey Warden. I felt that I was a Grey Warden because of _me_. Because of qualities within myself, not as an accident of birth or circumstances.

"For this reason, with the Wardens was the first place I ever felt at home. I felt like I belonged there among them. That I was like them, chosen to be one of them because of who I, Alistair, am, not because I was the unwanted bastard Templar prince.

"To find out that that was all a lie. That it was because I was going to die if not recruited. That they may have just let me die (it seems to happen with a fair number of Warden offspring), except that I'm the prince and may be needed as a political pawn at some point. And mostly… most of all… that Duncan… he… knew. And he never told me. He let me think that he had recruited me because he thought that I would make a good Warden, not because…

"It explains a lot I suppose. That I was never allowed in battle. They were probably afraid that I'd get someone killed by my incompetence. That I was chosen in that tournament above all of the others who were clearly more talented and better trained. I should have known. I feel such a fool."

By this time Alistair's tears were flowing freely. Sobs shook his shoulders, causing his armor to emit little clinks. He struggled to continue, his voice breaking. Gasps between tears came out more as moans than words.

Never had Ty felt so useless. There must be something he could say, something he could do. Reaching out to gently touch Alistair's cheek he began, "My friend. Look at me my friend. Please. Do this for me.

"You are seeing things in black and white, and they are just not so. If what you say is true… well, then it's true. But that you needed to be taken into the Wardens does not mean that you were not worthy of being taken into the Wardens. That Duncan did not tell you of this, or who your mother was, does not mean that he did not care for you.

"You did not see at my Joining, when you said the Words. You did not see Duncan's face. No father was ever prouder of a son. It was so intimate, it was almost embarrassing. I wondered then about your relationship. It's what I had in mind when I asked if you knew who your father was.

"His reaction when you sassed the mage too. Believe me, I have seen that more than once from my own father. Intense annoyance coupled with unlimited love. It's not an expression that you see given to just anyone. It's a paternal expression. Something from a loving father to a wayward son, not something from a commander to a subordinate, no matter how charming that subordinate may be.

"You may now doubt that Duncan loved you for who you are, but I cannot. I know you. I love you. I know that Duncan loved you also."

Alistair shook his head. "Perhaps." he said. "I certainly hope so. I'll never know for sure now—he's beyond asking—but I'll cling to your belief, if I may. I'm really not sure I can go on if… well, if I believed that Duncan didn't care at all, that it was all just a lie, and a political lie at that. So yes, thank you, I will try to believe that at least.

"But there is still the recruitment, the tournament, and the lies about my mother."

Shaking his head, Ty smiled at his friend. "Alistair, can you really doubt, after all that we have accomplished, and accomplished with so little, that you are worthy of being a Grey Warden?

"Myself, I was only recruited to save me from the hangman, if you'll recall. I think that the recruiters, Duncan and others, just guess and go by their gut about who will make a good Warden and who will not. Until we face the darkspawn no one really knows, and you have faced more darkspawn in the last month than most Wardens see in a lifetime these days. In you he got lucky, he guessed right.

"Remember that Duncan recruited Jory too. Jory who had won his tournament. The only one of us who was an acknowledged hero going into the Joining. And you know as well as I, as well as Duncan, that Jory was a coward. But we didn't know that until he was tested—tempered in battle. You have been tempered and you have not shattered, unlike poor Jory.

"You know, I still regret that Daveth didn't survive. He was rather fun. But anyway…

"Why do you think they didn't tell you about your mother, however? That part I don't understand. Or maybe, why tell you now?"

Alistair had calmed and become thoughtful. Ty, with great relief, knew that his words had had some effect. Had at least done something to help and not hurt. It had felt so risky to say anything at all.

Rubbing his chin, Alistair said, "I think they didn't tell me about her earlier because they were worried that I was too young to keep it a secret. That I might blurt it out at some point and the game would be up. A half elf on the Ferelden throne? I don't think so—at least not if anyone knew about it.

"I think Eamon finally told me because it looks like I might actually become king and for very much the same reason… if it was found out, if, say, Loghain heard a rumor, I would need to be prepared. Prepared to deny it I suppose, and I'm better equipped to do so if I know the truth… I'm not wondering if it _could_ be true, I _know_ it's true, so I can lie about it more convincingly. Does that make any sense?"

"Yes, it makes perfect sense," Ty replied. "Convoluted, devious, but it's politics, so yes, perfect sense."

Alistair stood and reached out to take Ty under his arm, where Ty fit so perfectly. "We should return to camp," he said, his voice quiet and calm. "I'd like to talk further, but not right now, and I'm sure the others are wondering if we've been consumed by darkspawn… and hey, I need some sleep.

"One thing though, what do we tell them? I know that I was acting, well, peculiar. And then we go off into the woods. And then we come back. How do we explain? We can hardly tell them the truth you know?"

A wicked smile bloomed on Ty's face as he looked up at Alistair. "I suggest that we tell them it was a lovers' spat. They'll accept that even if it doesn't make perfect sense. Further, I suggest that we noisily make up so that our story is more convincing."

"Ah, always the perfect answer! Did I tell you today that I love you? I didn't? Oh my, I shall have to make up for that transgression at the very least."

Dogspawn let out a loud sigh of canine relief as he followed them back to camp. It was a strange pack that he found himself in, but he loved them all.


End file.
